


Cecil's Walk

by donutsweeper



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Because #yuletide, M/M, appearances are everything, blame #yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 04:19:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutsweeper/pseuds/donutsweeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Cecil looks depends on who is doing the looking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cecil's Walk

Walking past Old Woman Josie, Cecil greets her with a smile and a wave, politely ignoring the angels that might or might not be standing around her. He smooths the lines of his suit (it's a light blue seersucker today, Erika and Erika must be arguing again) and fixes his tie. She compliments him on his manicure ("Properly maintained cuticles are important, don't forget that, Cecil,") and reminds him that fedoras are preferable to trilbies for proper gentlemen such as himself.

A few minutes later Cecil sees John Peters, the farmer. In preparation for having to suffer through yet another long meandering explanation about why the peach orchard still isn't producing any peaches he hikes up his overalls, pulls his feed cap down to block the sun's glare and shoves his hands in his pockets. Previous experience allows him to nod at all the right places and make appropriately interested sounded hrmms and mumbles 'I see' whenever the occasion calls for it while he compiles a shopping list in his head.

Long straight black hair becomes wild, frizzy and gray before disappearing completely as he greets Diane Creighton, Michael Sandero and then You in quick succession. The track pants are comfortable enough and a nice shade of tan, but the lederhosen are a little tight and the tentacles are downright itchy. Still, at least Earl Harlan was the only one who has ever brought out the floral print jeggings. _Jeggings._ Cecil still shudders whenever he thinks about them.

He's managed to get halfway to his destination when he passes Dana (or perhaps it's not Dana but Dana's doppelgänger, he's never been sure who survived the sandstorm) who is sitting on a bench in the shade slowly paging through a blank book. Although he knows she noticed him (platform boots are very uncomfortable) she looks very engrossed with her reading so Cecil doesn't do more than raise a tattooed hand in passing and quirk a pierced eyebrow in her general direction.

Unfortunately, a short time later, Steve Carlsberg manages to spot him before he can duck and hide. Ugh. _Steve Carlsberg._ And Cecil has to stand there, wiggling pale toes sticking out of ugly, worn Birkenstocks, the tag on the stiff polo shirt rubbing against his neck and his stupid, wavy blond hair blowing in his eyes for three whole minutes while Steve drones on and on about the station's most recent pledge drive before he can make a break for the closest door, which means he's waylaid at Big Rico's Pizza for ten minutes before he can slip out and continue on his way.

Knocking at the door of Carlos' lab is nerve-wracking. Cecil brushes his brown curls off his face (while he can acknowledge that they are pleasant enough to look at they are nowhere near as nice as Carlos' own perfect, perfect hair, especially now that the damage done by that horrible, horrible man, Telly the barber has had time to rectify itself) and tries not to fidget. He adjusts his vest, makes sure his shirttails are tucked in, and checks the shine on his Oxfords before taking a deep breath. Then there's the sound of movement inside and he hears Carlos approach the door.

Here goes nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the various tumblr posts going around that delve into the idea that Cecil's appearance changes depending on how people picture him and the reason he hates Steve Carlsberg is because Cecil _loathes_ the way Steve sees him.
> 
> Thanks to Llwyden for the beta!


End file.
